I’m not going to get into the long, tortured saga of the Beach Boys’ Smile, recorded some 45 years ago but not officially released until last week; I’m just going to tell you that it’s the finest album of 2011. Seriously, nothing released this year comes within miles of Brian Wilson’s baroque masterpiece, and not because I’m some old crank who bemoans how "they don’t make music like they used to..." This would be the best album of the year regardless of when it was released (okay, maybe not 1967). And if you think Brian Wilson’s Smile, released in 2004, will suffice, think again. All due respect, but he just didn’t have the pipes to pull off the difficult harmonies of this material. This version of Smile is a pristine remastering of the original sessions, and it’s nothing short of perfection: "Heroes and Villains," "Surf’s Up" and, of course, "Good Vibrations" are among the Beach Boys’ greatest songs, but this is an album to be savored as a whole, from the brief a cappella pieces to the gorgeous instrumental passages to the many lesser-known tracks dotted throughout. What’s more, the deluxe version is filled with wonderful bonus material, all worth owning. (Alas, we have sold out of the vinyl and the super deluxe box set of 5 CDs, 2 LPs, 2 45rpm singles and a 60 page booklet, but we hope to have them back in soon). Rejoice, people, the Beach Boys’ finest hour, and some of the finest pop music ever recorded, is finally here, to be savored and enjoyed forever.

How do we know 2011 has been a good year for music? Two full Cass McCombs albums, that’s how. Warm on the heels of the quiet brilliance of Wit’s End comes Humor Risk, with a higher quotient of the more upbeat pop we had come to expect from the itinerant McCombs and every last bit of the achingly genius songwriting. "Pain and love, oh yeah, are the same thing," he sings on first single "The Same Thing," which spins wisdom like that throughout its six minutes. Who makes six-minute-long pop singles?! But wait: "Mystery Mail" tops it, coming in just shy of eight minutes and carving through the turkey with a sweet Velvets-like riff that just works and works and works. Yet the best tune here might be "Robin Egg Blue," coming in under four minutes with its sauntering beat, its sweet melody, and McCombs spinning his unique magic, bringing together fables of heaven and earth and leaving the lesson exposed for all to see and ponder. Such a good record.

Equally inevitable and beautiful, 200 Years is the first official album by the duo of Ben "Six Organs of Admittance" Chasny and Elisa "Magik Markers" Ambrogio. Despite their extensive and woolly respective resumes, their work here is simple and pure, all sunlight and moon glow. Essentially it’s Chasny playing and Ambrogio singing, and little else; but then, if you know the heights and depths he’s achieved on his own records, you’ll maybe imagine how special it is to hear someone so incredibly talented playing it straight and easy, strumming and picking. As for Ambrogio (no slight guitarist herself), she has increased her power as a vocalist exponentially over the past few years, and here she offers an honest and at times fragile accounting of a life’s view, singing in soft, pretty tones that represent well for the world-weary eternal optimists out there. "West Hartford" is a classic white-kid’s blues, convincing on all sides of that description (you’ve got your mean streets, she’s got hers); on "Dead Medicine" she nimbly wends through a field of Chasny’s acoustic and electric guitars, hitting hopeful high notes. "City Streets" returns to a particular blues, the haunt emanating from echoing guitar and astral backing vocals. Understated on the surface, 200 Years’ debut reveals worlds of experience and imagery in its spacious confines.

Back in the spring, here’s what we said about Kurt Vile’s Smoke Rings for My Halo: "His second Matador album is—well, let’s not say ’mature,’ but it is a definitively refined version of the affectingly unkempt rock he’s been turning out for the past few years: still scruffy and cigarette-raspy but mellow and honestly emotional." Months later, the album has only grown in our esteem. We’re putting together our Top 50 albums of the year list right now, and without giving too much away, we can assure you that Smoke Rings for My Halo will be right there at the very top. Now he’s back with a deluxe version of this album, and though we’re a little skeptical of such endeavors, Matador did this one with absolute care. The bonus CD features six new songs, including a Springsteen cover, and it’s Vile in fine form throughout. If you never got around to Smoke Rings, here’s a great place to start, and if you’re a Vile fanatic, well, we got some goodies here for you. (We’re also selling this for a super-cheap $8.99; the vinyl version is solely the additional tracks, titled So Outta Reach.)

Two things happen on Joker’s long-awaited full-length debut: One is simply the album itself, after years of singles and EPs (which got him named "king of bass music" in 2009 by XLR8R). The other is that we start to see that in the hands of new-jack producers like him, the form is no longer really dubstep exactly; its nonstop updating and emergence as a genuine party sound has led cats like Joker into a realm of wickedly cool and soulful sci-fi dance music. The shuddering beats of "Tron" (actually a 2010 single) work all those angles, while the title track shows off futuristic party-swagger, with vocalist Jessie Ware (one of a handful of guests at this party) directing the vibe. Twelve tracks deep for those with The Vision, ready to launch off the dubstep platform to the next level.

This is the second time Kieren Hebden, a.k.a. Four Tet, has contributed to a mixtape series, and unlike his spectacular DJ Kicks, which was an eclectic mix of pop and soul, FabricLive 59 is more true to the dancefloor ethos of London’s Fabric club (which inspired the series to begin with). Here Hebden takes us on a dizzying journey of the last 15 years of 2-step, techno, house, broken beats and garage along with sprinklings of field recordings and other found sounds of London nightlife. It’s great stuff, and unless you are a serious devotee of said genres, most of the artists here will be unfamiliar to you: Youngstar, Big Bird and Crazy Bald Head, to name a few. But Hebden is hip enough to give us a few indie-friendly names, such as Caribou, Burial, Ricardo Villalobos and Four Tet himself too. This is not necessarily an album for Four Tet fans—it’s for fans of U.K. dance music, and the left-field variety at that. The FabricLive series was practically invented for a crate-digging visionary like Hebden, and true to form, he gives us one of the series’ finest offerings.

One of the more impressive box sets we’ve seen this year (if not longer), this mammoth work—more than 10 years in the making—throws back the veils of time to tell the story of how John Fahey came to be the John Fahey, the early years (1958-65) of the spiritual godfather to almost everyone who’s picked up an acoustic guitar in the last 40 years, and a human bridge between the present and America’s folk-blues history. The stats are amazing: five CDs, 115 recordings that are either very rare or never-before heard, plus an 88-page book with contributions from a half dozen or so legitimate scholars and friends (as well as a 1967 interview, published here for the first time). Those are the numbers; the music itself occupies a jaw-droppingly beautiful shadowland nestled in some dusty corner, heretofore sheltered from light. Feel how time comes to a near halt for Fahey’s "On Doing an Evil Deed Blues," find your true north within "In Christ There Is No East or West," and ... well, you get the picture. This is a genuine work of art, and it will live and breathe alongside you forever.